


Enough

by my_thestral



Series: Love by any other name... [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, making a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: Draco is getting ready to become a father – again – and contemplates how unlikely his life had turned out. And things seem to finally be falling into place.





	1. Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMightyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/gifts).



> This story was written as part of the [Bun In The Oven!](https://hp-bunintheoven.livejournal.com/)  
> and it's second annual pregnancy fest that took place at Live Journal. It is also a loose sequel to the "Here Again (Can't Stay Away) story I posted earlier.  
> I know that having a child with three genetic parents is already a reality in our Muggle world, but this story is actually about Draco embracing his life and everything it has to offer, magical or otherwise. Many, many thanks to my wonderfully patient beta [TheMightyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn) who first prompted me to write something, and then kindly took it onto herself to do the betaing. This is for you, darling!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Oh, god… Two more days, if all goes according to plans, and I’m going to be a father! Well... again, that is. For the third time. And Mother said if it’s blond  _and_  a boy this time even Father might come around and finally agree to seeing his grandchildren. Can you believe the old snot? There’s a reason I haven’t spoken to him in over a decade. Now, not that I’m particularly  _dying_  to have my fool of a Father acknowledge my lovely family, but it deserves a mention that a blond child is an actual option. You see, it was Luna Lovegood who offered to be our surrogate mother this time around. I, for one, accepted her offer with a grateful, dignified smile, all the while mentally squealing for joy. I bet you’d never thought you’d hear that from me, but here it comes: I love having children. And I love our children more than anything.   
  
Perhaps some may find it surprising that I’m so enthusiastic about having a woman, who still whole-heartedly believes in Nargles, bringing our child into this world. I confess she might not have been my first choice when I was sixteen, but times have changed, and boy, have I! And so has my perception of Luna. Where I once saw a wacky oddball with terrible fashion sense, I now see a uniquely talented witch whose ability to touch people with her uncorrupted kindness is quite unparalleled in the cynical world of adults. I wouldn’t mind some of those qualities in my child. And this child… well, he… or she… was always going to be special regardless of who their mother was going to be.  
  
This is not to say our other children are ordinary… er, no. Just take the twins, they’re… oh, god, exhausting, seven sorts of crazy, but their mad ingenuity also makes them incredibly rewarding to raise. Yes, we got twins the last time our friends decided to help us. Go figure, with Ginny Potter as our surrogate – I’m surprised six didn’t miraculously pop out! And our first-born is curly, freckled, brilliant, bossy, and ginger because that’s how it all began for us. Oh, who’s the other part of us? Er, that would be my once-arch-enemy Ron Weasley, currently my husband of fifteen years. Yes… yes I know.  _“How did that happen?!”_  perfectly summarises how I feel as well when I allow myself to ponder upon it. Now if you want to know how it all began...  
  
~  
  
It began with Hermione Granger-Weasley. Oh, yeah, she did marry a Weasley in the end, just not  _my_  Weasley, but his brother George. Surprised? Don’t be. It appears that the Weasley gingers are a subspecies of the ginger plague currently sweeping across England that’s particularly hard to resist. With this rate, the entire English wizarding community is bound to be ginger-y in a hundred years or so. I, myself, am a perfect example of the terrible toll the current “marry a Weasley” epidemic has taken.   
  
As hard as it is to believe – and I do sometimes wonder about it myself, to be honest – I shacked up with Ron Weasley after the war. No, I wouldn’t have predicted it either on the first day of Hogwarts, to put it mildly, but I dare say my future husband grew on me over the years. Those colourful insults, a few passionate punches on the nose – and the world’s most amazing arse – eventually did it. Yeah, it was definitely the arse. Or was it his glorious cock in my almost-as-amazing arse? Whichever. It’s hard to tell through the haze of an early hard-on when I think about that cock and er, arse. But I stray.  
  
So, right after the war I wasn’t one for the parties, as you may well imagine. I was barely one for breathing, to be honest. I kind of sunk into a deep hole of numbness for a year or two, and it wasn’t until my father’s constant nagging that the Malfoy family line must be continued – though I’m not so sure he had the present solution in mind – that made me grudgingly attend a Ministry reception. I was hoping to strike gold by finding a suitable candidate for my future bride on my first attempt so I wouldn’t have to attend one of those vexing events anymore.   
  
Only, I stumbled upon Ron Weasley instead. And as luck would have it, he happened to be at a funny point in life. I’d found him rather busy deciding if he’d prefer to live as a side-dish next to his bossy, bushy-haired best friend for the rest of his days – or follow his wild, independent urges and perhaps bury his adventurous cock in the first Slytherin arse at hand. I happened to be the arse at hand. And the rest is history. Oh, we did love each other back then as we do now – though it still gets rocky and loud from time to time – but perhaps  _“I’m bonkers about you”_  didn’t quite slip off the tongue as easily as it does now, after a decade of glorious shagging followed by a hazy period of sleeplessness spent in the service of the three exceptionally loud insomniacs that pose as our children. But I might be going too fast – I’ve yet to tell you about the children.  
  
So, about seven years after that fuck-up of a war, I found myself standing next to Hermione at the five-year anniversary party Ron and I were throwing to stick it in the face of everyone being a smartarse about us not making it through the first month as a couple. There was actually a considerable number of those but, if truth is to be spoken, she was never one of them. As we’d both married our respective Weasleys, we were forced to make a truce – or face the wrath of the certified dark-witch-assassin Molly Weasley – that gradually grew from an uncomfortable silence and glaring at each other at family dinners, to animated, engaging exchanges of our world-views, which were sometimes alarmingly similar. We’re actually on a first-name basis these days, and it only took us fifteen years or so! I still sometimes call her Granger just to annoy her, though.   
  
Anyway, Granger approached me at the above-mentioned party, and pushed a glass of bourbon into my hand without much words. She proceeded to stand by my side and watched Ron coo at her tiny first-born boy, held proudly by his father George.   
  
“He really loves children, doesn’t he?” she asked uncommonly softly, because motherhood would do that to the toughest of them.   
  
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly very much aware of the knot in my throat. He… we’d never have that. We’d never have children of our own, and though Ron hadn’t mentioned it with a single word, one would have to be blind and stupid not to see how much he adored them. Sometimes I wondered if being with me was really worth it to him. I made a quick job of trying to swallow the amber liquid to hide my weakness, but what she said next, made me splurt it all out.  
  
“George and I were talking – how would you two like to have a child of your own?”   
  
“There…” – God, I was breathless – “... there is no such magic. You can just forget it. The Potters – Harry’s grandparents – were known to try everything in the book to have a child, and it wasn’t until they gave up every attempt, every hope, that the miracle happened. And they weren’t both men, imagine that! Fertility magic is notoriously unreliable,” I blurted out dryly and all in one piece, because that damn hope wanted out, and I needed to stifle it before it grew and hurt me.   
  
“Oh, I know that,” she smiled indulgently. “I wasn’t actually thinking of magic – I obviously read every book I could find on the subject before I  _‘popped the question’_  , so to speak. No, I was actually referring to a Muggle procedure in which a couple that is unable to have children obtains one through a surrogate mother. Of course, only one prospective father’s DNA… oh, never mind, only one of you can be the father… and I suppose I’m offering myself as a surrogate mother. With George’s consent.”  
  
I swear, I stared at her as if she’d grown tentacles out of her head.   
  
“You’d do that for us?” I finally managed, my head seriously spinning from all the possibilities finally open before us.   
  
“Of course,” she said quietly. “I only want the best for Ron… and yourself, I suppose, since you’ve made him so happy.”  
  
“Have you spoken to him about it?” I asked her. “Because it has to be him. He has to be the dad. It’s going to mean the world to him.”  
  
Her face literally lit up, and if I had any kind of doubts about the relationship I had with Ron, I would  _not_  have cared for such obvious enthusiasm much – she was his ex after all! But since Ron and I were solid and she was literally offering to make our dreams come true…. Oh, I suppose I couldn’t be too picky.   
  
“No, not yet,” she said hastily. “I wanted to check with you first in case… you know… if you might have any objections.” Suddenly she was looking at everywhere but me, and I had a most damning thought.  
  
“Oh… do you two… Do you two have to… in order to…”  
  
Merlin, I was certain this was going to crush my heart. I hated the mere insinuation of an idea of having to share Ron, even for something like this, but having to share him with  _her_  …  
  
But she just looked at me, frowning as if she wasn’t entirely certain what I was on about, but then her brow suddenly cleared and she quickly put a hand onto her mouth to stifle a giggle.  
  
“Oh, God – no! By all means no! Do you think George would let me do it if I had to sleep with his brother, who just happens to be my old flame?! Merlin, no! Muggles have... other techniques for that. I merely meant – the child would not be a pure-blood,” she shrugged, uncharacteristically red in the face.   
  
The fuck – what?!  
  
 _“Oh.My.God, woman!”_  I finally managed, barely able to breathe over my indignation. “You can’t possibly think I still care about any of that rubbish?! It would be our child – it would be precious beyond words, pure-blood, half-blood, Muggle-born, why would that matter in any way?! We had a war over these things, remember, I thought we’d safely settled  _that_  issue!”  
  
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and for once Hermione Granger looked properly ashamed of herself. “George told me you wouldn’t care, but I suppose I wanted to be sure…”  
  
But I forgave her eventually. I forgave her the second we told Ron the news and his eyes lit up like blue diamonds, and he nearly jumped out of his freckled skin in excitement. And I forgot there was ever anything to forgive when – after twenty hours of labour – she put a tiny, screaming bundle with a tuft of ginger hair into Ron’s shaky hands and told us in an exhausted voice: “Merlin, this one will be a handful, I can tell. Take good care of her, you hear me?!”  
  
Oh, we did. That, we did, you can count on it. Hermione helped, of course, especially with feeding a forever-hungry little princess, but she had her own family to be with, and frankly, I didn’t mind in the least. Ron and I barely left our little Rose’s side for the first few months after her birth. No wonder she’s a spoiled little brat. But I just couldn’t… I couldn’t tear away from her. She was perfect. Her eyes were like the biggest, bluest shiny buttons, there were tiny freckles on her perfect little button of a nose, and she had Ron’s adorable pout. In fact, she looked so much like Ron, I’d fall in love with her even if she wasn’t our daughter. But then the hair started growing and it was – oh, boy – instantly very clear who brought her into this world. Our little Rose literally has a cloud of bright fiery hair flowing behind her everywhere she goes, and it’s is the most insanely beautiful thing ever. It’s waist-long and she looks every bit like an angel. My mother loves taking care of it.   
  
Father, still very much a certifiable pig-headed, pure-blood extremist, ignores Rose’s existence, obviously. Oh, he’d been informed of it, Mother took care of that, but he refused to have anything to do with his half-blood granddaughter, regardless of how adorable, clever and talented she was. But Mother was there for our little family from the day Ron and I married. She was there the day in St. Mungo’s, surrounded by an army of Weasleys, to witness Hermione’s muffled screams, Ron’s nervous pacing and me just sitting there as pale as a sheet. She intermittently held both our hands, all the while assuring us that this was perfectly natural, that it took even longer having me. She was there to hold Rosie the second I was willing to part with her – albeit for barely more than a minute – and she declared her the most beautiful child ever. She loves taking care of her and spoiling her rotten, and I dare say she sees as much of Rose as Molly does. We do weekly visits to the manor, and Chatty, our oldest house-elf who practically raised me, whispered in my ear that she’d threatened to leave Father in no uncertain terms, if we weren’t welcome.  
  
Rosie was all we could ask for. At least so I thought. Until that day in the park.


	2. The Twins

We’d met up with the Potters for an outing, a celebration of the warm May weather; I thought that was all it was going to be. But because it was the Potters, it was a well-set honey-trap. By the afternoon, we’d exhausted our children – and my Ron, the main protagonist of the day-long Quidditch matches and other games – into falling asleep on the picnic blankets. I was just sitting next to my snoring husband, his hand resting on my knee, and I kept myself busy by putting daisies in sleeping Rose’s fiery cloud of hair, when I noticed Harry and Ginny exchange a look. I frowned. It was  _that_  kind of look. And then Ron’s sister nodded with a smile.  
  
“Say, Draco,” Potter coughed, “how would you like to borrow my wife for another child?”   
  
I… Well, I’m a tad embarrassed about it even after all these years, but I have to admit I hugged Harry Potter in that moment. Out of my own will. Fiercely. And I kissed his wife. Which was not  _that_  big of a deal – everyone knows I’m as gay as they come. Also because this time there was no doubt I was going to be the biological father; Ron was out of equation for obvious reasons. Until that very moment I wasn’t even aware how much I wanted to be the one and have one little wonder with the Malfoy heritage running around the lawn of our country estate. But because this time it was Ginny Potter neé  _Weasley_  we were dealing with… it wasn’t going to be just one Malfoy, was it?  
  
I do confess to having a small panic attack after I was informed that we were to have twins. God, did I ever panic! Granger did explain to me that, in that mysterious Muggle procedure, it was customary to make the mother pregnant with two babies, but I’d interpreted it being just to ensure at least one of the children would make it to full term. But now the cheekily-smiling Ginny Potter informed us that we were indeed getting two, and I honestly don’t know how I made it out of St. Mungo’s that day.   
  
Believe it or not, the first image in my mind was that of George and Fred, George’s long-deceased twin, who were basically a walking Armageddon in human form! Was I up to that?! I was a Malfoy, we were not used to epically destructive children! And there’s never been two Malfoys in the same generation! A single child, one boy for every generation, for as far back as I could remember! Those Weasley genes, seriously...  
  
But then Ron reminded me why he’s been my rock for a decade or so: that man really knows how to step up to the plate. He sensed my shock immediately, even though I’d tried my best and finest to conceal it, and he held my hand all the way back from St. Mungo’s. He didn’t say much, but every time I glanced at him, he’d squeeze my fingers, and his smile was so happy and proud, I gradually relaxed and felt the worst of the anxiety slip away. And as soon as the door of our flat locked behind us, he closed his arms around me and just… held me. Believe me, when I say that being held by someone as wonderfully tall, warm, and loving as my Ronald does wonders for all sorts of anxieties. I would know: I had a pile of those after the war. But I couldn’t think of a care in the world when I was happily inhaling the wonderful comfort of his embrace.   
  
He lifted my chin up after a while and kissed me on the mouth, gently, the way only he knows how.  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m so proud of you. Two babies! Two, my love! You couldn’t have given me a better present if you tried. You will be such an awesome dad – and just you wait until we tell Rosie! She’s been chattering for months about wanting to be the big sister, to anyone with a second to spare. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gin’s offer wasn’t a fair attempt just to get Rosie off everyone’s back!”  
  
And that made me smile right there and then. Our little angel was indeed perfectly able to drive one spare with her demands! She was incredibly strong-willed and quite capable of holding her own, even in a conversation with an adult. I adored her to bits, even though at times she could be a handful. And now we’d have three like that!  
  
“But what if they’re like Fred and George?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “What if we’re not up to raising them? What if they keep getting in trouble and something would happen to them, and…”  
  
He wouldn’t even let me finish. He just chuckled and kissed me once more.  
  
“For the record,” he murmured, “I’m hoping for at least one blond child. I’d be the world’s proudest dad to a little Draco-lookalike since I have such a terrible crush on the father,” he said sweetly, and I don’t think I’d ever loved him more.   
  
“But if they happen to be like Fred and George, they’re going to be the best loved two scoundrels in the entire world. My mother always says that you never know how much you love your children until they give you absolutely no reason to.” He kissed me on the nose, then on that soft spot under my ear that just bloody melts me, and finally on my lips again, slowly and sensually the way only he knows how. By that point he could have sold me on raising Fred and George and the original Marauders on top of that as well.  
  
“We’ll love all our children, Draco, no matter how many we have or what they’re like,” he breathed into my mouth. “I’d make you five myself if I could. They’d all be beautiful and ours.”  
  
Merlin, my Ron… He just knows how to say the stupidest… most adorable…  _right_  thing, you know?  
  
He proceeded to make love to me so thoroughly I honestly forgot I ever had a worry in the world. Hex me in my left buttock if I know when and how we got onto our massive bed, but as I lay there, fucked empty of all the cares in the world, he snuggled up against me and mumbled sleepily: “If we do get small replicas of Fred and George, though, I’m all up for hiring an army of house-elves. I have no idea how my mother did it!”  
  
~  
  
So, you can imagine I gulped down my fears thickly when the first child they put in my hands was a boy, who was very obviously going to be as intensely ginger as his mother... and blessed with the lung capacity of his maternal grandmother to boot. I confess my first thought at the sight of the screaming little banshee was more in the direction of  _“Heaven help me”_  rather than anything else. But as soon as I pressed the little body closer to my own to calm my son down – something about body warmth having a relaxing effect, as Ron had taught me – the little man in my lap stopped crying abruptly, and looked straight at me with round, unfocused eyes.  
  
Oh, my… I was looking into the big, radiant, silver eyes –  _my_  eyes, only infinitely more beautiful – that somehow miraculously made it through all the Weasleyness. He was just… stunning.  
  
“There, there…” I said softly, in a shaky voice, and he looked positively in awe as if he realised he knew me. Perhaps those minutes I spent talking to my children with my hand on Ginny Potter’s belly, feeling entirely silly, weren’t quite so wasted after all... The little wonder in my arms seemed to know who I was and his uncoordinated little hands flopped around excitedly. By the time one of them had found a way to wrap around my finger I was already hopelessly in love. I no longer cared how big of a marauder the boy might turn out to be – I’d lie, steal, murder and cover up all of his crimes and transgressions for him, if I had to.   
  
“Hugo,” I whispered. The bright one. I didn’t care much for the name when Ron suggested it, but at that moment… at that moment it was perfect. “Welcome, son.”  
  
I had a son. I could barely comprehend that I had made… this… this wonderful, living, breathing creature currently attempting to devour my finger in a purely hungry Weasley fashion. It felt almost surreal that this beautiful child was  _my actual son_. Every time I looked at him he just took my breath away. He was so very… perfect. Everything on him but his eyes was tiny: the nose – yes, even the nose was small! – the sunny sprinkle of freckles, minuscule fingers; but I was told to expect that because twins usually don’t make it to full term. Still, the tight and possessive grip he held my finger with gave me a hunch that this son of mine was going to be  _mine_ in many more ways than his appearance suggested.   
  
“Bah,” he commented when a teardrop landed on his little hand, and I realised that sometime after being embraced by my son, I’d began to cry.   
  
“Not ’bah’. Those are tears and they’re precious, you scary little man,” I sniffled, half laughing through tears. “I’m so very happy to meet you at last.”  
  
“Bah,” he said stubbornly with that pretty pouty mouth, cuddled up against me, and closed his eyes tiredly, dosing away on the spot. I suppose I could live with a new name for my joy. Bah it was. One could say this was just the first of the many battles I was willing to surrender to my beloved child.  
  
I was so immersed in admiring my little wonder, making small, adorable sounds in his sleep, that I nearly forgot that we weren’t quite done yet. Luckily, my poor son had another, less space-brained parent. About half an hour later, Ron walked through the door so proudly, his springy gait suggested he would have been bouncing off the floor if it wasn’t for another small bundle in his arms.   
  
“Congratulations, precious,” he whispered, and leaned forward carefully to give me a kiss.   
  
“Thank you,” I rested my head onto his shoulder as he sat down next to me. “So, have we been blessed with Fred and George the second? The one I’m holding is definitely a boy…”  
  
“No such luck, I’m afraid,” my husband chuckled softly. “This, here, is a proper little princess, as you might have guessed, since she was so fashionably late. But she’s well worth the wait; she’ll take your breath away. She’s still awake, waiting to meet her papa.”  
  
My heart just fluttered in my chest at his words. Papa… Dad. I loved how it sounded from his mouth. So, I got up, put the tired, napping little screamer into his crib and took the small pink bundle from Ron’s hands. He was right: she took my breath away. I was met with a set of crystal-blue eyes I knew so well from the face of my mother – and to make the resemblance even more striking, the little girl also had a porcelain complexion, and the fluff of hair on her tiny, round head so blonde it was like moonlight. If it wasn’t for the pouty, rosy Weasley mouth, I would be looking at the miniature of my mum.  
  
“I got my wish: a blonde child at last. Isn’t she gorgeous?” Ron touched the little palm of her hand gently. It opened like a petal and locked around his finger firmly, making him chuckle. “Greedy little thing… just like her dad.”   
  
“Well, she knows better than to let go of a good thing when she’s found it,” I murmured and I earned myself another peck on the cheek. I began combing the silken tuft of hair on my daughter’s tiny head with my finger, and I asked: “What shall we call her?”  
  
Well, obviously, we had a list of names a mile long, and as usual, we couldn’t agree on any. Our families have nearly exhausted the list of floral names and we could hardly call a female child Tulip, you know! But then Ron coughed softly almost as if he was a bit embarrassed.  
  
“Well, I was thinking… Doesn’t your family have a habit of naming the Malfoys after the celestial bodies? And she is quite heavenly… How about Céleste? Or perhaps Selene, you know, like the moon-goddess? She’s so very fair…”  
  
“Céleste. Selene…” I said out loud. Well, as loud as I dared in the company of a sleeping new-born. “Céleste Selene,” I repeated, and I had to admit it had a ring to it.   
  
“Céleste Selene?” I asked the little miracle in my hands, as it was only right she would have a say in picking her own name.  
  
“Gah,” my tiny daughter gurgled, and closed her sleepy little eyes, not really interested in objecting. I reckoned I wasn’t going to come closer to “yes” that night.   
  
“Céleste Selene it is. Mother will certainly love it,” I murmured, knowing how much she adored all the French-sounding names. “And yours…?”  
  
“You must be joking...” Ron just chuckled softly, with proper mirth. “With  _Celestina_  Warbeck around, I dare say she’ll give Rosie and Lily a run for their money at the ’favourite granddaughter’ contest… Oh, damn…  _Rosie_! She’ll never forgive us if we don’t wake her up!”  
  
The panic in his voice was so hilarious it made me roll my eyes. Seriously, my man’s got serious issues with assertive women in his life.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling!” I yawned. “It’s two in the bloody morning, she won’t know what she’s missing. I’ve got a much better idea. Here’s what we’re going to do...”  
  
As Rose woke up in the morning in the great, big bed of her parents with a little brother to her left and a tiny little sister to her right, her squeals of joy had probably woken up a few deaf bears up in Alaska. She adored them from the first moment on, and I dare say that much of that was due to Ron, who was determined not to let her feel ’left out’. I was an only child, it would have never crossed my mind that such a thing happened. But, apparently, when one has siblings, they might feel ’left out’ and ’outshined’ according to my lovely husband, whose six siblings might have given him some more, er,  _empirical_  experience on the matter.   
  
But even with Rosie’s help, taking care of twins as energetic as ours was… a handful. And, from time to time, properly overwhelming. Hugo proved to have exceptionally well-developed vocal chords and very little reservations about using them. He was also a proud owner of the legendary Weasley digestion that required feeding him every hour, on the hour, as well as changing his entire outfit several times a day. But though our precious little daughter was a much cleaner, and a tad quieter child, she was of a very strong persuasion that sleep was heavily overrated. God forbid that she should find herself alone after she had woken from a proper sleep-marathon in the duration of the spectacular twenty minutes. Hell hath no fury… oh, you know the rest.   
  
For about a year, Ron and I had turned into zombies who often lived off sandwiches made by an enthusiastically experimenting six-year old, and I’m still grateful that most of that period is safely wrapped in the haze of amnesia, caused by sleep deprivation. I don’t ever wish to know what was in those sandwiches Rosie made, but I think I might have ingested a tiny ’Heroine Hermione basilisk-detection mirror’ at some point. I know that we could have asked for help – and sometimes we just capitulated and did – but we were really determined to prove… god knows what folly! We should have asked for help!   
  
It only took us nine months to toss those  _“Don’t smother your child in their sleep”_   books into the fireplace when we discovered, more by sheer dumb luck than any intelligent observation, that the twins actually slept the best and the longest when they were by each other’s side. I’d immediately purchased them the biggest bed I could find and piled enough protective charms on it to call a brigade of Aurors if any of the kids as much as sneezed. Finally, after nearly ten sleepless months, Ron and I could close our eyes properly. When I closed my hand around Ron’s – that’s about all we were up to – I swear I was so happy I could cry. I would have, only I was way too busy falling asleep like a log.   
  
After a refreshing – uninterrupted! – sleep of six full hours, we’d woken up to a brand-new morning and to a discovery that our kids cared nothing for the best-quality protective charms, and had, apparently, learned how to crawl overnight. Hugo made it as far as the garden, where we’d found him dirty like a little piggy in a mud, chasing after pigeons on his fours, and smiling like a loony. It took us another ten anxiety-filled minutes to locate his sister. She was right under their bed, fast asleep. She wasn’t trying to go anywhere, you see. She was just trying to prove a point.   
  
Another frantic year followed, filled mostly by hysterical attempts to locate our children – _“Hugo?! Oh, don’t tell me he managed to escape again! Rosie? Have you seen Hugo?”_ – and last-minute interventions such as _“Céleste, no! Put that down, princess! Garden gnomes’ hats are yuck. We don’t eat those!”_  
  
Yes, our inquisitive, adventurous kids had discovered walking, and sometimes… sometimes I really missed those days when they would just lie put and scream. Honestly, if someone had suggested having another child during that time, I would have told them plain and simple where to go and stick that ingenious idea, and it wasn’t anywhere where the sun could shine!  
  
But you know, days went by, and before we knew it, Rose’s Hogwarts letter arrived, and shocked us both to the core. Where did all the years go?! We’d just got her! And then I took a good look at Hugo in the evening and I was amazed to discover that he was much less dirty than in my memory, and that he’d been working on one of his Grandpa Arthur’s Muggle artefacts the whole evening in his corner,  _quietly_. And our little Céleste Selene – she was… she was reading! All right, it was only an illustrated edition of “Rabbity Babbity…” – but she was  _reading_! The realisation how fast they were growing up hit me straight in the heart, and when I looked at Ron, he appeared to be equally flabbergasted and, if I knew my husband, on the verge of tears.   
  
We put them all to bed quietly that night, and kissed each one of them goodnight with even more love and care than usual. Ron sat down next to Rose in her bed, and they spent half an hour in an animated discussion about Hogwarts and all the supplies she was going to need. And I didn’t mind reading one, two… five stories to the twins before they finally drifted off to sleep. I had a wobbly feeling in my heart that I wouldn’t be able to do that for much longer… and what a privilege it was.  
  
You know, we’d spent a better part of the last five years wishing for a moment alone, for a bit of room for intimacy that would allow for more than a mere rushed quicky – but now everyone was sleeping in their bed, soundly, for the entire night, and we just lay next to each other quietly, holding hands tightly as if we were about to be the last two people on the planet.   
  
“They’ll be leaving us soon,” Ron finally spoke, and he sounded a bit panicked. “All of them. Rosie will be gone in two months, and Hugh can make his own sandwich… and Céleste can read, Draco, she can  _read_! They’ll be leaving us… Oh, what am I going to do…”  
  
“Shhh… shush my love… don’t cry, darling… It’s the way things go.”   
  
This time it was my time to hold him, and my Ron, a man twice my size across the shoulders as he was these days, cried into my shoulder like a child. And I let him. He was crying for us both.   
  
“I know… it’s the way… things go,” he sniffled into my wet pyjamas. “But it’s too soon! I’m going to miss them, Draco… I’m really going to miss them.”  
  
“I know, my love. I’m going to miss them as well. But they won’t all just pack up and leave, you know. Rosie might be leaving – but we’ve got the whole summer still to enjoy! And she’ll be back every holiday. And the twins will stay… they’ll stay for half a dozen more years, love. You’ll wake up tomorrow and we’ll still be a family. We just might have a bit more time to ourselves, perhaps? Do things we used to love to do?”  
  
“Like… this?” he finally pressed a wet little kiss into the crook of my neck, and it made me shiver.   
  
But he didn’t stop at that, almost as if he wanted to show me he was embarrassed about his meltdown and had decided to make it all better. He pressed another sweet little kiss just under my ear and this time I mewled in earnest. God, I missed this. I didn’t even realise how much I’d missed it. Oh, we still had sex as many times as we could manage, but it’s been a while since it was more than pure need for release, always rushed and hushed and… not like real intimacy.  
  
“Perhaps we should get away for the weekend,” I whimpered, because I was suddenly desperate to be with him, properly, for days on end if I could. It was as if I had woken up and remembered that I was more than just a dad, but a man, not yet 35 years of age, head over heels in love with my husband, and I really, really wanted to spend some time with him, just him. He said nothing for a while, but he kept himself busy by kissing down my neck and across my shoulder slowly, lovingly, until I began to think I wouldn’t get an answer at all, because, surely, he would want to spend all the time we had left with our kids.   
  
“Hell, yeah,” he said unexpectedly, and his fiery head descended onto my nipples, nearly making me fly off the mattress in an intense bout of arousal. Oh, yeah, that was  _exactly_  what I was after. I missed that feeling that he was really into me; it’s been too long since I felt that pure passion flow between us unabashed. Merlin, it was long overdue, but that evening my husband clearly decided to make it all up to me.   
  
“It’s all for you tonight, babe,” he told me quietly, while sucking on my nubs, turning them into screaming little pebbles of arousal the way only he knew how. “Anything you want. I’m sorry about earlier… I didn’t mean to make you feel as if you were not enough, just… you know… you’re enough. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Shush…  _godfuckyes…_  do that again…” I moaned, not all that interested in his apology. I knew I was going to be grateful for it later, that it was something I needed to hear, just perhaps not… right in that moment? I was way too busy melting into a pile of goo under his skilled hands. It was as if my body suddenly remembered how it felt to be loved by Ron Weasley, my once-enemy, my husband of fifteen years, the only man that could start that slow-burning, insatiable fire in my veins that just consumed me. When we were together, it was always about hunger, about possession, about wanting to own him, and wanting to be owned by him – and that night it was no different.  
  
Before long, we were not merely kissing, we were  _devouring_  each other. I honestly felt high and dizzy from that painfully perfect blend of rough and tender that was always the only way for us. He was always so gentle and loving with me around other people, but I craved that Ron who came to life in my bed alone; a sex-starved animal who would pull my head back roughly by my hair to delve into my mouth deeper, until the very core of me just echoed with the rightness of it.   
  
“You want it?” he whispered in my ear, and it made me utter a breathless chuckle, because this was our thing; those words were, and so was the barely contained passion underneath them. They reminded me that we went way back, that there was a time when I thought I hated him, that once, a million years ago, I wanted to hate him – but I could never, ever stop wanting him.   
  
“Oh, I want it,” I whispered the same reply I always would, and I earned myself a sweet little love-bite on my lower lip, that made the blood rush madly into my head. He proceeded to lick a wet stripe down my neck, all the way to that blue shade of my vein where my blood pulsed madly, and I whimpered, already incoherent, helpless and overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him. I mewled a breathless  _“please”_   when his mouth sucked on the sensitive skin, knowing that I’d be all in bruises the next day, but I honestly couldn’t bring myself to worry about it; I loved what he did to me far too much. The next day didn’t yet exist, there was nothing and no one in this world at that moment that mattered in any way, but him.   
  
“Want to fuck my mouth, precious?” he offered casually, making every bit of my skin bristle in sweet expectation. “I’d love to go down on you, my dirty little angel… I’d love to worship that beautiful pink cock of yours… bring it so near bursting it’s dripping onto my tongue… and you’re begging for more. I’d love to have my mouth so full of your cock I can barely breathe… I love to feel it pulse on my tongue, while you pound into my throat like the needy, desperate, inconsiderate, insatiable bastard you are. How about it, love… how about I suck you empty?”  
  
“Yes! No! I mean… I’d love to,” I babbled, all my brain clearly convinced I had no use for its services. “But I really, really just want to get fucked,” I blurted out, already feeling the familiar need to be filled pulse through me like a hungry void. “Please, baby… I  _need_  to get fucked.”  
  
I knew I didn’t need to say more, he always understood. My man wasn’t one for big words, but his cock… now, that was another thing entirely. There was never an unspoken promise his solid rod couldn’t deliver. Before long, I found myself full of it, hard, pulsing and unforgivable like a loaded weapon, and I couldn’t wait to issue a breathless, pleading  _“Move!”_  to finally feel it drill into me. God, I needed him… I didn’t realise until I heard my own obscene string of helpless litany – “Fuck me, Ron... Merlin, baby, please fuck me, harder, there,  _ohfuckbaby_  , there, that spot,  _yesthereGodyes…_  Use, me, baby, use me… Come inside me, come deeper, harder, more, Ron… more of you, baby… Don’t stop,  _Jesusfuckbaby_ , don’t stop…” – how starved I’d become of him.   
  
“Draco!” he gasped my name, and I knew him well enough to guess that he was close. “For the love of God… you and your dirty mouth…”  
  
“I can’t… fucking… help it!” I hissed, so close to the edge of delight I felt its golden glow on my body. “I’m a slut for your cock… you know that… you know I love how hard you fuck me… how you ruin me… the way you hurt… and the way… you never… let go… I love you, Ron!”  
  
“ _JesusfuckDracobaby…_  ” he growled when he drove into me one last time… and pushed me into black, beautiful, blissful oblivion as well, with no less but an ultra-loud scream of release.  
  
 _This._  A fucking toe-curling tsar of monster orgasms was exactly what I needed. I barely found my way back from the universe of bliss, and I was breathless, utterly crushed, and just... the bloody happiest person on the planet. I never knew feeling sore, and used, and like a fucking rag all over could be such a life-fulfilling experience. I just smiled exhaustedly into my husband’s face, covered in perspiration and still bearing a trace of a dreamy smile, and I sought his mouth.  
  
“You’re enough as well,” I told him. “You always were. I love our kids, Ron, and if there’s ever a chance to have more, I’d love to have more – but even when it’s just you and I, it’s perfectly enough. You complete me, my love. Always have.”  
  
He buried his face in the crook of my neck and I knew very well what that meant: he was moved to tears and too much of a man to show his weakness once again.  
  
So, you see – we’d slowly, but surely come to terms that eventually, it was going to be just us pretty soon. Or – we nearly did. Until we got an offer we couldn’t refuse.


	3. The Last One

It took Luna one look at Ron at the twins’ sixth-birthday party to declare: “You’ve got baby blues.”  
  
How the hell did she know?! Even  _I_  thought he was hiding it well, and I flatter myself I know my husband fairly well. But this was Luna, and Luna had her ways of seeing straight to a man’s soul. I reckon with a soul so clear and transparent as that of my Ron – perhaps it wasn’t even that hard? But my husband clearly found it unfathomable.  
  
“How on Merlin’s flat Earth…?”   
  
Even after all these years, I still thought that a shell-shocked, round-eyed, jaw-slacked Ron was the most adorable sight ever.   
  
“Oh, you’ve got wrackspurts coming out of your ears,” Luna said kindly. “They’re blue and pink. They gave you away.”  
  
After the initial shock, my poor Weasel didn’t see much point in lying.   
  
“Well… uhm… if you say so. I’m just a tad… blue, perhaps.” He shrugged and tried very hard – too hard – to look nonchalant about it. “It’ll pass, I reckon. It’s just Rosie leaving for Hogwarts, you know… and they’re growing up so fast! I caught Hugo trying to nick punch from the bowl before, and Céleste told Ginny she no longer wanted baby knickers, but big-girls knickers, lacy ones, like the ones she had. My god… she’s  _six_ , you know! It’s just a bit of… panic, I guess.” He smiled, but this time the sadness in his eyes wasn’t that hard to discern. “Baby birds leaving the nest and such…”  
  
“Well, you two are only thirty-five,” Luna said with her usual bluntness. “If you want another child, you only need to ask.”  
  
“What? How… what do you mean ' _ask'_?! Ask who? You?” There was so much hope in Ron’s voice, it was simply heartbreaking. I felt my own heart flutter in my chest. I always had this… invincible urge to please him, and if another child was what he clearly wanted so badly…  
  
“Well, I still need to discuss it with Rolf.” She smiled her beautiful, dreamy smile. “He seems to think our twins are exhausting and I don’t think he wants any more children. But I would like to be with child again. It’s the only time I clearly see Nargles without my Spectrespecs. Is this something you both want?”  
  
“Oh, god, yes!” I blurted out before she could have any second thoughts – though I’m not sure Luna did second thoughts, her first always seemed to be spot on. “We’re both very much in favour of another child.”  
  
I’ll never forget the look Ron shot me, it was pure, unfiltered love, if I ever saw it, and his beaming smile was simply blooming with gratitude. Anything for you my love. Even if it means five more sleepless years.  
  
“Very well,” Luna declared with her calm, dreamy smile. “I’m going to talk to Rolf, then. I’ll let you know shortly.”  
  
After she left, Ron just pulled me into his embrace, and held on to me for dear life.   
  
“Thank you,” he finally breathed. “Thank you so much. You, Draco Malfoy, are a gift that keeps on giving. My greatest gift. I’m so incredibly lucky to have found you.”  
  
“The pleasure is all mine,” I whispered, and I might have sounded a bit strangled with emotions. “I consider myself incredibly lucky to have been found by you. You’re a Keeper. I always knew that.”  
  
And because life is an ever-recurring circle, this was how we were found by Hermione Granger-Weasley.  
  
“Aw, you two old dorks,” she said teasingly, but she sounded genuinely pleased and perhaps even a bit moved by us. “You’re adorable.”  
  
“Shut it, Mione,” my husband mumbled, and to cover up for his embarrassment, he promptly continued to spill his gut to the woman that was his oldest friend.   
  
“Oh, if it’s down to Rolf, then your baby is a given,” Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “No one was sure he could even talk before he met Luna, and he thinks the sun rises and sets with her. He would never deny her anything. Oh, I’m so very happy for you!” She suddenly hugged us both enthusiastically. “Have you thought which one of you would like to be a biological father this time?”  
  
“Ron,” I said at exact same time when Ron said: “Draco, of course.”  
  
“Well,” Hermione said, suddenly looking thoughtful. “Well.”  
  
“I just thought… because you make such pretty babies,” my husband smiled at me sheepishly, and my heart just swelled in my chest.   
  
“Don’t be silly,” I mumbled. “I’ve fathered two. You only made one. You need to even the score. No, it has to be you.”  
  
“But…” Ron started stubbornly, and clearly Granger, always the bossy goody-two-shoes, saw there was only one way to stop the legendary Weasley pig-headedness colliding with the equally legendary Malfoyian persistence.  
  
“Well, if you’re  _entirely_  undecided,” she spoke quickly, “there is this  _new_  Muggle procedure.”  
  
And then she just sat us both down and had us served drinks. And it’s a good thing she did. Apparently, the advancement in the Muggle technology has been remarkable. It was now possible for a child to have three parents: that of a mother… and both fathers. We just sat there, and I, for one, can safely say my head was spinning with all the open possibilities. To have Ron’s child. To have  _our_  child. Damn, those Muggles were something…  
  
Ron’s hand found me, and though he had yet to say a thing, he squeezed it so hard it was impossible to miss how emotionally overwhelmed he was.  
  
“It’s done,” Luna’s voice chimed behind us. “Rolf agreed. Now, which one of you is going to be the father?”  
  
“We both are,” Ron said in a shaky voice. “If you’ll have our baby, it’ll be from both. Ours.”  
  
“Oh,” said Luna dreamily. “I was hoping you’d say that. You make a very lovely couple.”  
  
~  
  
I’m… biting my nails. One; just one. One nail. Oh, I know perfectly well this is not acceptable behaviour, least of all for someone who was born and bred to be an impeccable Malfoy, but my mother is sitting right next to me and she has yet to say a thing. We can hear Luna sing in her bedroom – because, you know, that’s just Luna and she says singing helps her deal with the pain of contractions – and Ron is pacing nervously across the living room like a trapped lion. The labour started a day early. We were informed of it two hours ago and we were rushed to Luna’s home. Apparently, she gave birth to twins at home as well. Something about too many Nargles in the vents of St. Mungo’s. Hermione is with her, so that, at least, is reassuring. But I feel like biting all my nails.  
  
~  
  
It’s a boy.  _OhMyGod_ , it’s a beautiful  _blond_  boy with Ron’s strong eyebrows, adorable freckles, pouty lips, and Ron’s heaven-blue eyes. He took fourteen hours to arrive and Merlin, he’s worth every second of waiting.  
  
I got to hold him first, and I’m so very glad that Ron is sitting next to me, because I’m not sure if I can actually breathe. Merlin, how could I have forgotten what an intense experience this was?! I’m looking into those piercing Weasley-blue eyes, the little round face full of wonder, and I desperately feel like bawling. I honestly can’t take my eyes away from him, he’s so… so… so very special. Ron is there, leaning across my shoulder and a wide, completely blessed smile seems to be permanently stuck onto his face.   
  
“Merlin, he’s… Is it me, or are  _all_  our children so very beautiful?” he wants to know, his voice heavy and trembling with emotions and pride. “Aren’t the new-borns supposed to look wrinkled and cross-eyed? But ours never are! All right, so Rosie might have looked a bit like that,” he lowers his voice and confesses with a smile, “but just look at this one. He’s like… a superstar. He could be on the cover of Witch Weekly! Oh, God, Draco… we have a son! I mean… obviously we have Hugo, but… but… look, he’s all you!”  
  
“Eee…” says our little wonder and waves the little hands, his short-sighted eyes focusing on Ron’s face for a second, and then wandering back to stare at me some more.   
  
“Don’t make your son laugh at you, love – he’s barely anything like me! Those are your eyes, and your mouth – and he’s even got freckles!” I tell my silly husband a little too stiffly, trying very hard to blink away tears.  
  
And it makes Ron smile so blissfully my heart just melts.  
  
“Well, he’s a little bit like me, isn’t he?” he says, sounding about ready to cry of joy. “I mean, obviously he’s very fair, but… but… Merlin, we’ve got a son!”  
  
“A son, and another, and two lovely girls…” I turn my head, and whisper into his ear: “And each other. Isn’t that…”  
  
“Draco!” my mother sticks her head through the door. “A moment, darling. I need to talk to you. I’m afraid it can’t wait.”  
  
She’s seen our little prince already, and she was the one to have delivered him to us proudly. This time she was present by Luna’s side at birth. She would have been with the mothers the first two times as well, but the Healers at St. Mungo’s are always very particular about having anyone from the outside meddle in their work. However, we were at Luna’s home now, and Mother was more than welcome. But now she looks a little bit concerned, and I wonder what is so urgent…   
  
I kiss my little son on the forehead and hand him over to Ron.   
  
“Don’t do anything silly when I’m not around,” I tell them, and steal a kiss from my husband, already missing the feeling of a small, warm little body in my lap.  
  
“Whatever is the matter, Mother?” I want to know, none too pleased to have been torn away from my moments of family bliss. “What could possibly be so urgent?”  
  
“Oh, I’m afraid I might have blundered a bit,” she says, and for someone who knows her as well as I do, it’s obvious she’s a tad nervous. “I took Chatty here with me in case some urgent intervention was required but that silly thing Apparated right home after the birth and told everyone – and I mean  _everyone_  – that Master Draco has a beautiful blond boy. And now your father… oh, I’m afraid he’s on his way here.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“But it’s the middle of the night? Oh, I know. I don’t think he cares, my love. Come to think of it – I’ve always found him up and about when you were about to have another child. One might think he cares more than he’s willing to admit,” she says thoughtfully. “But this time he doesn’t even want to conceal it. He’s very interested in this child, Draco… very interested indeed.”  
  
“Well, he can’t see him!” I blurt out, suddenly angry and upset. “He never cared for any of our other children – and you know they’re the loveliest bunch – so he can’t see this one either.”  
  
“Draco…”   
  
My mother sighs and puts her hand on my forearm gently.   
  
“You know he’s a stubborn old mule,” she says quietly. “But I think he’s tired of the feud between the two of you and quite eager for an excuse to patch things up. I think this blond male child is just this: a perfect motive for him to come over and try to be part of your family for as long as he can. He won’t live forever, Draco… and Azkaban has done him more damage than he’s willing to admit. But if you have any doubt whatsoever that your father loves you, let me just tell you one thing, Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

She looks me in the eye in that stern, fearless, motherly way she has: “The one time I saw your father cry – and I don’t mean shed a tear or two like at Grandfather Abraxas’ funeral but proper bawling that took some time to stop – was when you were born, my love. Your father, as flawed, stubborn and disappointed in life as he is, has loved you from the first moment he set eyes on you. Please consider this – and the love you have for your children – when you make a decision if he is to see his grandson or not.”  
  
You know… I never admitted it to anyone, but there’s always been a dull ache in my chest at the thought of my father rejecting me and my family so thoroughly. And now there was a chance to have that remedied somehow, even if too late, even if this meagre chance came in the form of a peace offering that was none too generous. But she was right: Lucius Malfoy was my father and this was something I could not ignore.  
  
“Very well, Mother. I will talk to Ron about it, and we will decide together. But I will tell you one thing: Father will either agree to meet  _all_  his grandchildren – or none at all.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” My mother smiles gracefully.


	4. Enough At Last

So, when my distinguished father arrives to the Scamander household in the middle of the night, he’s promptly instructed by my mother to wait in the living room until the morning when his other grandchildren wake up because he would either meet all of them, or none. I have yet to hear any loud words of protest. I’ve informed Ron of the conversation that I had with my mother, and he just takes one look at our son’s sleepy face, and smiles.  
  
“Of course he can see his grandchildren,” he says softly, and looks me in the eye. “I know it always bothered you to see them ignored. Besides, if your mum’s present, there’s no doubt he’ll behave.”  
  
I just nod with a knot of anxiety in my throat.   
  
“One wrong word and he’s out,” I promise. “He’ll never see it coming.”  
  
Dammit… I never knew my father could still rattle me so.  
  
~  
  
Molly arrives with the kids at around eight in the morning, and it’s obvious from the first glance that some considerable effort had gone into making them look their best. Rose, lean and tall for her age, looks quite remarkable in her white summer dress and with that beautiful long red hair flowing behind her like a flame of an avenging angel. She’s twelve already and she’s already smarter than any twelve-year-old I ever met – and yes, that would be her mother included.   
  
Hugo has been scrubbed clean, somehow – I imagine that was some dirty business and I’m glad it wasn’t mine – but the naughty smile in those silver, fearless eyes cannot be erased. He’s as mischievous as they come and if my father is going to clash against anyone, it’s going to be him. Céleste Selene was clearly dressed up by my mother, because she literally looks like she just stepped off a wedding cake in all her fluffy lace. Because she resembles Mother more and more every day, I imagine her appearance might be somewhat of a shock to Father.   
  
Ron hands me the baby, recently fed and freshly changed, making funny little noises in his sleep, and he takes the twins’ hands.   
  
“Now, who knows why Grandma Molly brought you here?” he asks the kids as if in school, and I’m not even surprised to see Rose’s hand shoot up into the air… it’s got to be hereditary.   
  
“To meet Grandfather Lucius,” she says primly. “He’s finally ready to meet us.”  
  
I, for one, am not so sure about that, but I don’t bother to correct her.  
  
“I want you all on your best behaviour,” he tells them sternly. “Hugo, I’m looking at you! No pranks, no rude remarks – or no Quidditch for everyone for two weeks!”  
  
The little redhead mutters something in his chin, and I sigh. My husband might have just made a massive mistake and presented our unruly child with a challenge. But I can’t worry about it now. My father stepped into this one, willingly, he’s just going to have to live with whatever comes his way. I’m not quite sure I’m ready to punish anyone for… well, just being a child.  
  
“I think we’re ready, Ron,” I tell him. “Let’s just get this over with.”  
  
~  
  
The Scamander’s living room is barely too small for all of us and when we finally close the door behind us, the place seems to shrink even more.   
  
I’m… unprepared for how much Father has aged. Mother positively looks like his daughter these days and he’s just… he’s an old man. I remember Grandfather Abraxas not looking much different when he passed away some twenty years ago, and he was much older and ailing. There’s barely any of his good looks left these days, but his eyes are still sharp. His expression might have lost a bit of its haughtiness though, and it seems to have been replaced by tiredness instead. He appears equally surprised to see me, almost flabbergasted, and his eyes immediately rush to the sleeping little bundle in my hands.   
  
But my mother will have none of it. She got up the minute we stepped through the door, and her face lit up with a smile. She’s already holding Rosie’s hands, kissing her on the brow and chastising her to finally stop growing so fast or she won’t be able to call her “my little girl” anymore.   
  
“Lucius,” she turns to Father graciously, “meet your granddaughter Rose. She’s probably the smartest witch you’re ever going to meet and I’m quite certain that she’s got a future as bright as her golden hair in front of her. She’s already spending her summer holidays with her mother, helping out Minister Granger-Weasley whenever she can, and Hermione says she’s probably more capable than half of the Ministry staff as it is.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” Rose says, smiling beautifully, and extends her hand. And for a moment there, I’m breathless. I did that once… and I got rejected. It changed the course of my life, and I have a feeling that whatever happens next will affect our lives in some way as well. My father is staring at her hand as if he’s not entirely sure what to do with it, and the feeling in my stomach is absolutely sickening… when he finally picks up her offered hand with both his hands and holds it. I know a silent apology when I see one.   
  
“Pleased to meet you as well, Rose,” he says at last, and his voice sounds heavy, as if he’s grown unused to speaking.  
  
But Rose’s eyes immediately grow big and round – an image of her father when he’s worried about someone.  
  
“Merlin, Grandfather,” she says, “you’re as cold as a block of ice! Hand me that blanket, Dad! Thank you. There you go, put that across your knees,” that granddaughter of Molly Weasley says with a tone that doesn’t allow any objections. She’s got the poshest little accent, and as she fusses around him like a proper granddaughter would, I can tell by the way the corners of my father’s mouth quirk upward, that he likes it.   
  
“Are you comfortable in that chair? I’m so sorry you had to wait for us all night, but we couldn’t really wake the little ones, I’m sure you understand. You should come visit us at our home once! Papa’s got this lovely comfortable sitting chair – there isn’t a person in this world who wouldn’t fall asleep in it. We could bring it to the garden and you could watch us play Quidditch. Dad says I’m getting good!”  
  
Oh, my… I can see my father’s eyebrows shoot up. I don’t think he was quite prepared for that. Have I mentioned that our Rose is a proper chatterbox? Well, she is. Hermione always says she needs to be working in international diplomacy, she could bury anyone in small-talk.  
  
“That… would be quite counterproductive,” my father finally speaks, and he even sounds old.   
  
My heart sinks a little. It was such a lovely invitation! I can see my mother’s brow furrowing and I’m afraid to as much as look at Ron. But my father’s eyes are only focused on Rose now.   
  
“I shouldn’t like to fall asleep in that fine chair of your papa’s when I’m supposed to watch you fly,” he finally says slowly, almost as if he’s trying to remember how to give a compliment. “I should like that very much.”  
  
Oh.  _Oh._  I guess the old bastard’s still got it. He definitely hasn’t lost  _all_  of his charm. Rose is positively beaming! And so is my mother! Even Ron has a small smile in the corner of his mouth.   
  
“Oh, I’m sure Rosie won’t let you leave today until you arrange a proper visit! But you’ve got more grandchildren to be introduced to, Lucius,” my mother says mildly. “Rosie, would you please go to inform your grandmother – your other grandmother – that we’d love to accept her invitation to lunch today. If you wish, you can go ahead with her and set everything up.”  
  
“Oh, I suppose… if I must,” Rose sighs. “Grandfather, when will I see you again?” She turns to my slightly overwhelmed parent. “We’ve got a visit to plan, you know,” she points out imperiously.  
  
“Perhaps you could come and see me at the manor this Saturday, then?” he proposes, and she claps her hands together happily.   
  
“Oh, we’re there as it is, we’ll just walk around the corner and see you, then! Take good care of yourself, Grandfather! Don’t take off that blanket when I leave!”  
  
And because this is a proper Weasley child, she pecks him on the cheek without any reservations before she hurries through the door, leaving him looking just a tiny bit shocked.  
  
“Bossy little thing,” he murmurs to himself, but he’s smirking, and he doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Well, what else have you got for me? Who am I meeting next?”  
  
“Hugo, do you want to…?”  
  
“No!” my stubborn child replies vehemently. “Céleste can go. I don’t want to see this old man.”  
  
“Hugo,” Ron sighs, and tries to sound stern. “Remember what we said about being on your best behaviour?”  
  
But before Hugo could reply my father gets up from his chair. He’s shorter than I remember, as if the age has shrunk him somehow, but he still stands straight and appears somewhat imposing. He really needs his walking stick though, he’s leaning on it heavily.  
  
“Well, if you won’t come to me, I must come to you,” he says curtly. He stops in front of Hugo, his lips curling at the sight of his violently red hair, but then he meets his own molten-silver eyes straight on, and he seems to forget what he wanted to say.  
  
“Do you even know who I am?” he finally asks.   
  
“Of course,” my shrewd seven-year-old barks at him, the Weasley temper flaring in his eyes. “You’re the grandfather that won’t see us. It makes Papa sad. But it’s your loss!” he throws at him angrily. “Because we’re  _beautiful_  and  _precious_.”  
  
I barely stifle a smile when I realise he’s merely repeating my mother’s words. But he’s nowhere near done, the words are just pouring out of him.  
  
“And you know what else: I’m a Malfoy through and through! Papa always says I’m more like him than anyone else. And I’m a pure-blood!”  
  
The fuck?!  
  
“Hugo!” Ron barks, this time sounding genuinely upset. “You know we don’t care about these things!”  
  
“Well,  _he_  does!” my Satanic child hisses angrily. “He doesn’t love us because we’re not good enough. Well, guess what – I’m good enough! I even got  _scrubbed clean_ today because of you – and I  _didn’t like_  it!”  
  
“Merlin,” my father mutters, and there seems to be genuine respect in his voice. “The spirit of this one…”  
  
But then he coughs and declares loudly: “I appear to have been wrong. I came here expecting to find a bunch of dirty, loud, obnoxious brats – but what I really came across is a bunch of  _beautiful, precious_  children,  _scrubbed clean_! It was an honest mistake. You must allow me to make amends.”  
  
“What is  _‘amends’_  ?” my son wants to know suspiciously – and you know what, I’m damn proud of him right now. He’s standing his ground and refusing to enter an agreement he doesn’t understand. I think we might have a future Slytherin in the house. Oh, please, no one tell Ron.  
  
“Well, we say we want to make amends when we want to settle something we’ve done wrong,” my father explains with a small smile at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“So – you mean, like with payment?” my horrid child inquires slyly – and fuck me right if it doesn’t look every bit like he’s got his grandfather exactly where he wanted him!  
  
“Well, no… not like… well… perhaps. Would you like me to pay you, then?!” my father says, sounding halfway incredulous and halfway as if he’s about to laugh out loud.  
  
“Sounds fair,” the little devil incarnate shrugs, and mutters: “I’ve got to get  _something_  for all that scrubbing!”  
  
“Well, I never… Narcissa... Oh, what the heck – what’s the price then?”  
  
“A bag of lollies!” my son declares perfectly seriously. “And not just any boring old stuff, but I want something from Uncle George’s shop! Once a week… and you have to deliver it yourself!”  
  
“I see…” my father says calmly, but the way he’s pressing his mouth together I’m guessing he’s trying very hard not to laugh at this tough negotiator. “It sounds reasonable. But what do I get?”  
  
“You get to  _apologise_ ,” my demonic child declares. But then he seems to think better of it, and he sighs: “And you get to see Rosie fly. She  _is_  rather good, you know! And you get to tell me where you got that wicked staff you’re holding. Is that enough?” he wants to know, suddenly worried about the outcome of this trade that looks so promising.  
  
“Hm… let me think on it,” Father ponders seriously. “I think I should like some more. Have you got anything else? A bag of lollies a week, personally delivered, does seem like an awful lot!”  
  
“Stingy,” my unbelievable child mutters. “I thought you were rich. Oh, I suppose you can have this one.” He suddenly grabs his twin sister by the hand and pulls her forward. “That’s my sister. You can’t  _keep_  her, of course, but Grandma says you’re going to adore her. Her name is Céleste Selene and she only looks like a princess. But I’m warning you: she’s louder than I am when she’s angry!”  
  
But my Father is already kneeling to be at the same height with my lovely daughter and for once he looks genuinely charmed. “Oh, would you look at that,” he says quietly. “What do we have here?”  
  
“It’s not  _what_ , Grandfather, it’s  _who_ ,” my daughter says pointedly in her lovely chime-like voice. “Grandma Cissy always says we need to speak properly. My name is Céleste Selene and I’m pleased to make your acq –  _acquaintance_.”  
  
She even  _bows_  as she says that and it’s so obvious that she must have rehearsed her introduction a thousand times that it just melts my heart. Merlin, she does look like a proper ice princess with that exquisite, lacy dress and that long blond hair floating around her like moonlight. I can tell from the start Father is spellbound.   
  
“Pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Céleste Selene,” he says, but his voice is not quite solid, as if it only just struck him what’s been missing out on. “You’ve got a lovely name.”  
  
But then he gets up and looks at my mother: “You never told me she looked so much like you, Cissy.”  
  
“You never cared to ask,” my mother replies quietly but firmly. “Those children are a gift, and you did nothing to deserve them.”  
  
“Well, is it a deal?” Hugo wants to know impatiently. “If you accept, we must shake hands like men do!”  
  
“Oh yes, it’s a deal.” My Father nods imperiously. “Honestly, I’d hate to miss out on what you’re offering. When do you expect your first delivery?”  
  
“Well, we’re coming over on Saturday, the way we always do. Make sure you have it ready by then!” Hugo says sternly, and when they shake hands, he adds with a big sunny grin on his freckled face: “Pleasure to do business with you, Grandfather!”  
  
“Merlin, this child spends entirely too much time with George,” Ron mumbles, and I have to agree, laughingly.  
  
“Come children, let’s go get some ice-cream,” my mother proposes diplomatically, and Hugo barely shouts “Yey! Bye, Grandfather!” before he rushes outside, while my lovely daughter makes another little bow, and says sweetly: “Goodbye, Grandfather! See you soon!” – and points to her cheek, graciously accepting the goodbye kiss when she gets it.  
  
Suddenly it’s just Ron and I, Father and the baby, and for some reason, I’m nervous all over again.  
  
“I believe you’ve got one more Malfoy child for me,” Father says awkwardly.  
  
“He’s a Malfoy- _Weasley_ , Father,” I correct him, slightly agitated. “Do sit down if you’re going to hold him. You can’t hold on to a walking stick and your grandson.”  
  
He looks… different, as soon as he accepts the child into his lap. Younger, brighter, as if having the heir he hoped for some fifteen years ago somehow erased those fifteen years from his face.  
  
“Remarkable,” he whispers, and pets the tiny blond hair with his finger, making my son’s nose wrinkle in his sleep. “Does he have a name?”  
  
Er… no. Oh, shut up! We haven’t gotten around to it yet, that’s it. With so many children, we’re slowly running out of names we agree on!  
  
“Would you like to propose a name for him?” Ron says unexpectedly, and my jaw nearly hits the ground together with the jaw of my father.   
  
“Well, he might as well,” he mumbles at the incredulous look I shoot him. “Maybe he’s got some fresh ideas… and we don’t have to accept him if we don’t like it!”  
  
My father is back at staring at his grandson’s face. He runs his finger through the blond tuft of hair again and as if upon an order, my son opens his eyes. They’re of a beautiful brilliant blue colour, and I can see my father is mesmerised at the sight.  
  
“Scorpius,” he finally blurts out. “Look… He’s got silver spots like the stars in his eyes.”  
  
“Merlin,” Ron mumbles. “Uhm… Scorpius… Regulus? Scorpius Regulus? So, he at least has one name that doesn’t make my family choke. What say you, precious?”  
  
And I’m fresh out of better ideas.  
  
“Scorpius… Regulus,” I try. It has a ring to it. “I guess… it’s fine.”  
  
“Your mother will be wild about it,” my father mutters. “She always adored that Black boy to bits. Favourite cousin and all.”  
  
We’re all quiet for a while, but it’s not an unpleasant, charged silence like before, but rather a clean, fresh calm after the storm that has passed.  
  
“You have beautiful children,” my father says unexpectedly. “And  _precious_ , as I’m reminded by the little redheaded scoundrel of yours. You’ve made yourself a grand family, son. Hardly any Malfoy had that. A grand, wonderful family indeed.”  
  
And just like that, that sore spot inside me is no more. There’s little left but a scar now.  
  
“Thank you,” Ron says for both of us. “You can be part of it, if you wish.”  
  
“Gah,” our little Scorpius agrees and grabs his grandfather’s finger, before his closes his eyes again and drifts back to sleep.   
  
“Well, if you ever wish to have more,” Father smiles and pets his grandson’s little cheek. “There’s this really reliable pregnancy spell in our family. It’s never been made public but I was told by my grandfather that it works… apparently, for men as well.”  
  
Merlin, how typical of my family to keep a working pregnancy spell that could have helped many desperate people out there to themselves. But perhaps it’s better that way. This could be anything. It could be dark, dangerous…   
  
I just look at Ron and I know the answer. He swings his arm across my shoulders and tilts my head up to kiss me on the lips.  
  
“Thank you, Lucius,” he says. “But no. We have enough.”  
  
Indeed, we do. We’ve been blessed so many times, with friends, children and each other. We have enough. We  _are_  enough.


End file.
